Twenty Hours in Boston

by Priscilla Darcy

  "That's emotional exhaustion. It drains everything out of you. I ate constantly during the divorce.” She had brought the topic up purposely, but he did not rise to the bait. He merely shot her a look from under his eyebrows and continued to gobble down food. “You told Kaye you were worried about me. Why?"

  "I was worried about you. Much as I enjoyed it, Aubrey, you haven't exactly made a habit of throwing yourself at me. Although I do encourage it.” He winked, finished up the food on his plate, leaned back with his glass of wine and took a sip. He gave her an assessing gaze that she met directly. “What are you doing here?” he asked finally. “Besides finding your way to my heart via my stomach."

  "You're tired,” she said, which wasn't quite an answer.

  He was a little surprised by how true that was. He had been dead on his feet when he'd walked through the door, and now here was Aubrey in his suite and he couldn't even begin to call up enough energy to seduce her.

  He didn't want to seduce her. He wanted to put his head in her lap and fall asleep and sleep for weeks on end. But he shrugged negligently and took another sip of wine. “As you said. Emotional exhaustion. It'll pass. Now that I know that Sophie and the baby are both all right for the time being."

  "It's not some sort of chronic problem with the pregnancy, is it?"

  "No. The doctor assured us not. And isn't it strange how concerned we all are that this baby turn out fine? In the span of just a few days, I can't imagine the idea of this baby not being on the way."

  Aubrey smiled. “I told Sophie you would love the baby."

  "And did she believe you?"

  "I think she tried to. I'm sure she believes me now."

  "Sophie came back with us.” Gray poured himself more wine. The wine was taking the edges off. He had been exhausted, but his heart had also been racing just a bit. The wine—or maybe Aubrey—was relaxing him. “That was apparently yet another of the monumental mistakes I have made with her, to force her to go back to school. It was obviously not the right move. At least at this particular time. Let's go into the other room.” He pushed back his chair, stood up with his wine and headed into the family room.

  She followed him, just as he picked up the phone and ordered crème brulee.

  "You didn't drink the wine. Do you like crème brulee?"

  "Yes, sure,” she said, sitting on the couch. “Do you remember telling me once that I was too hard on myself?"

  He sat down on the couch beside her, sipping his wine thoughtfully. “No. When did I say that?"

  "I don't remember what it was about. But I remember you saying that it was because I was a Red Sox fan. And you said you'd escaped that fate because you were two years old before you became a Red Sox fan."

  "That's true."

  "Oh, yeah. To the outside world, very true. It used to drive me nuts, how very unruffled you always looked. But underneath it all, you are blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault. Sophie got pregnant. But you are not the father. I fail to see how it was your fault.” She turned to him on the couch and tried a smile. “For instance, if I had been pregnant, believe me, that would have been your fault."

  "Yeah, but that's different. I knew she was sleeping with him and I was too tired to—” He cut himself off, and she had the impression that he had said more than he meant to. “I didn't sit down and talk to her about it. I was irritated because she's always doing little things to provoke me. Little things to nudge me toward the edge. They both do that. Sophie and Doug."

  "It wasn't your job to talk to Sophie about these things. You have a highly competent mother to—"

  "Yeah, but I don't know if she knew,” he interrupted.

  "You don't give your mother enough credit. Of course she must have known. Stop being so hard on yourself, Gray. You have to stop blaming yourself for things that aren't your fault."

  "It's tough being a Red Sox fan,” he said after a second.

  She smiled at him. “Tell me about it."

  The elevator doors opened and she heard someone come in and announce, “The crème brulee, Mr. Delamonte."

  Gray didn't take his eyes off her, and because he didn't, she was constitutionally unable to look anywhere but at those hazy blue-gray eyes. She had to take him to see that Monet, she thought disjointedly, listening to Gray's voice say, “Thanks, Mike.” She heard the elevator doors open again, then swoosh shut, and still she sat, locked in Gray's gaze, throat so dry she couldn't swallow, and her heart not racing but thudding hard, thickly.

  Gray's eyelids drooped a little, so that his eyes were dark gray slits looking at her with shivery intensity. Once again, it seemed to her that just looking at Gray was a hundred times better than kissing any other man on earth.

  He broke the gaze abruptly. “We should try the crème brulee.” He stood up, walked over to the tray and picked up two dishes of crème brulee laden with fresh berries and smelling delicious.

  Aubrey, under normal circumstances, loved crème brulee. But at the moment it failed to hold any appeal. All she could think was how lovely the slide of Gray's tongue was over her skin.

  He was right. She liked being licked. She had never really thought about that before.

  "Have you heard from Doug?” Gray asked, and he sounded thoughtful, not jealous.

  She looked up at him. He was balancing some raspberries on the spoon along with a hefty amount of crème brulee. And he didn't look the least bit jealous. “Doug?” she repeated, because he couldn't imagine why he had brought Doug up.

  Gray licked at the spoon to get all the vestiges of the cream with that talented tongue. Aubrey frowned, wishing he were that thorough with her—and then dismissed the thought. She needed to keep her mind off sex, for God's sake.

  "I left him a message on his cell phone about Sophie, but he didn't call me back and that's not like him. Doug adores Sophie."

  Aubrey heard the distinct undertone of concern. “Is it unusual for Doug to be so unreachable?"

  Gray frowned, took another thoughtful bite of crème brulee. “Not really. He does have a habit of just going off sometimes. I suppose I'm worrying over nothing. Mark's got me keyed up to a ridiculous extent.” Another bite of crème brulee. Aubrey had yet to touch hers. She was too busy watching Gray devour his with that mouth she wanted on her. “Sophie told Dirk, you know."

  "About the baby?"

  "Mm-hmm."

  "I think that was the right thing to do."

  Gray sighed and fixed her with a look. “If I end up supporting Dirk, so help me God, Aubrey, I'll come after you and—"

  She grinned. “And what?"

  "You haven't touched your crème brulee,” he finished lamely.

  "Is it good?"

  "Delicious. The best dessert we have here at the Bienvenue. If you don't eat yours, I'll eat it for you.” He sat back down on the couch beside her and spooned another enthusiastic amount of crème brulee into his mouth.

  His mind was nowhere near sex. And maybe that was why the impulse seized her. He always had her so off-guard. Time to repay the favor.

  Shocking even some objective part of herself that stood aside watching and gasping at her boldness, she fastened a hand around his wrist and brought the spoon to her own mouth and licked up the crème brulee. And that was the word for it. She ran her tongue carefully over every square millimeter of the spoon, hoping she was giving Gray a good show.

  She paused for a second. Gray's breath rasped out, harsh, quick. Yes, Gray had watched the show. Gray was thinking about sex.

  Aubrey smiled.

  That smile made Gray feel almost sick to his stomach. That smile was trouble. An awful lot of trouble. More trouble than Gray could handle at the moment.

  His head pounded a bit in alarm, as if the more sensible part of him was performing cartwheels in an effort to flag him down and turn him away from this obviously dangerous road. The rest of him watched in tightly coiled, highly enjoyable anticipation.

  "You're right about the crème brulee,” Aubrey purred.
“It's delicious."

  "Yes,” he agreed hoarsely, “but it's not the best dessert at the Bienvenue."

  Aubrey cocked an eyebrow at him. “No?"

  "No. It occurs to me that there's another dessert that would be even more ... delicious."

  "What could that possibly be?” asked Aubrey innocently, straddling him so that she sat in his lap facing him.

  "Well, it's soft..."

  She looked a little amused. “Soft?"

  "Sweet. Best served hot."

  She tugged at his lower lip with her teeth—an action reminiscent of what he had done to her the day before, just before they had walked in to brunch. Gray tensed, hoping she wasn't just going to tease him.

  "I wouldn't describe my favorite dessert as soft. But I do agree it's best served hot,” she said a little breathlessly. And then she kissed him.

  Gray dropped the crème brulee, hoping the bowl managed to fall on the coffee table or some other suitable place, and tangled his hands in her hair and kissed her for all he was worth, kissed her the way he'd been fantasizing about kissing her ever since that morning in Boston when he had slunk out of her room before dawn.

  There was nothing slow about the kiss, nothing casual, nothing elegant. It was a full-blown violent war of tongue and teeth and lips, the sort of wet, messy kiss that had embarrassed her when she had shared it with Doug, but that did nothing but thrill her at present.

  Gray's hands closed around her hips, pulled her closer. She squirmed.

  Gray pulled his mouth away from hers. “Aubrey..."

  She kissed along the line of his jaw.

  Gray tried to move his head out of her reach. She responded to his efforts by nuzzling his neck. “Listen to me. If you want to stop, we should—"

  "Shut up,” she said, and covered his mouth again with hers. It was strange, how easy it suddenly was to make this decision. But Kaye was absolutely right. She was in love with Gray. She wasn't the type to wait around and cook dinner for a man she wasn't in love with.

  He would leave eventually. Inevitably. So if she didn't have sex with him before he left, she was really only depriving herself. Either way, she was going to end up with the same sort of misery.

  She removed his tie and threw it somewhere over the back of the couch and turned her attention to the buttons on his shirt. “I know you're tired, but..."

  He looked immediately affronted. “Tired? What have I done to give you that impression?"

  She grinned at him as she continued efficiently undressing him, now perched at the end of his legs so she could pull his pants off. “Frankly, I'm a little disappointed by how very long it's taking you to, shall we say, adequately respond to me."

  Gray narrowed his eyes, looking so offended that she laughed.

  "I'm kidding,” she said.

  "Kidding?” he repeated in disbelief. “About that?"

  He had, really, honestly, the perfect body. Not overly muscled so that he was bulgy; just muscled enough to give him an edge, a hard, lean, narrow-hipped, broad-chested, absolutely luscious edge. She tickled her nose into the smattering of dark hair across his chest. “You've had a long day.” Her tongue darted out, leaving a wet brand on his chest that garbled the words she was saying, short-circuiting the part of his brain that could understand language. “So I have a proposition for you."

  She sat up, knees wedged on either side of his chest, and he opened his eyes and looked up at her and swore.

  "What was that for?” she asked.

  "You're the cleverest bargainer I've ever known. What wouldn't I give you at this moment?"

  She smiled at him, that same siren's smile that provoked both an uncertain nausea and a terribly certain punch of desire. “I'm not asking for much.” She scraped her nails playfully down his chest. “Want to hear my terms?"

  He had to smile. He couldn't help it. The girl was incredible. And she was teasing him. There was something absolutely enchanting about that. He folded his arms under his head and decided to enjoy it. “Go ahead."

  "I know you're thinking of telling me to go back to my room because you're just too tired to engage in any ... strenuous activity.” She looked up at him from underneath those fiery eyelashes she had, as her nails scraped along his ribcage.

  "That's exactly what I'm thinking,” he agreed dryly.

  She perched her chin on her folded arms across his chest, her face just inches from his, looking thoughtful and serious. “I was afraid of that. What can I do to convince you to let me stay?"

  Gray's lips twitched, desperate to grin at her. He fought to suppress the grin, sighing heavily. “I don't know. It's going to take quite a lot, I'm afraid."

  "Mmm.” She lifted her head to nibble under his jaw, and Gray's hands jerked to reach for her. He kept them solidly behind his head. “I feared as much.” She shifted again, kissed the very corner of his mouth. “What if...” She trailed off, nipping just the smallest bit on his lips.

  God, thought Gray, and tried to remember to breathe.

  "What if I offered to do all the work?” She kissed him—quickly, lightly, fleetingly, the merest flicker of tongue.

  "What would that entail, exactly?” He kissed her back the same way.

  "I could tell you...” Kiss. “...or I could show you."

  "You know what I always say?” At some point his hands had crept out from behind his head and his fingers were tangled in her hair. He said the words directly against her lips.

  "Mmm. What?” she said, right into his mouth.

  "Actions speak louder than words."

  And then he lost his mind. Lost all ability to think. He couldn't think to move his hands. He couldn't think to undress her. He couldn't think to do anything but kiss her, and the kiss tipped him over and shook him. Somewhere in the back of his mind a thought tried and failed to form. But he thought it might have contained the word “trouble."

  Aubrey decided that what she wanted more than anything in the world right then was to devour Gray, every inch of that scalding hot, smooth, salty skin. Abandoning his mouth, she concentrated on his neck, his ears, the line of his hair, his chest, the flat, alluring expanse of his belly, the line of his thigh. His body was like a road map. If she kept her head down, kept her senses swimming in him, she could read every inch of it clearly.

  Impatience burst over her all of a sudden. She wasn't tired of tasting him. She really didn't think that could ever happen. But she wanted her skin against his, and Gray seemed to be literally taking her up on her offer to do all the work. He seemed to have no inclination to undress her further than she already was. His hands were fastened firmly in her hair, clenching and unclenching as she nibbled a path over his body.

  She rose then, and Gray ventured a look at her. He was feeling unexpectedly dazed. Extremely foggy. Absolutely marvelous. She pulled her shirt over her head and followed it quickly with her bra, and he had a glimpse of all that perfect creamy skin before she fell on him again, back to kissing him with those greedy lips.

  Finally, finally, he collected himself enough to let his hands roam, skim over her back, around to her breasts, weighing them, teasing them. He moved his lips away from her mouth, tugged on her earlobe, then sat up to gain access to her breasts. And the words poured out of him.

  "I have wanted you like this from the instant I left you behind. Long before you showed up at the hotel, long before—oh, like this ... Aubrey, you're mine—mine. If you only knew how I've dreamed..."

  She heard him, but could not believe she was hearing him correctly. Her skin absorbed the words as it absorbed his kisses and nuzzles, and he called her name over and over, with every frantic kiss he planted on the skin he could reach, and her name was a growl, a prayer, a plea, an oath, a curse. Emotion washed over her, a shiver of love wracking its way through her, and in a gesture that totally undid her, he stopped kissing her and gathered her up tight in his arms, tight against him. She curled into him, into the embrace.

  "Gray.” She closed her hands around great clumps of
his hair. “I want you inside me."

  Flames of fiery desire flickered through him. He took a deep breath. “Difficult for me to get inside you when you're still half dressed,” he said finally.

  She slid reluctantly away from him and in a flurry of motion removed all her remaining clothing. He had a glimpse of sensible cotton panties. For the rest of his life, he thought, he was going to be completely shattered by the sight of sensible cotton panties. Then she was back on top of him and she wasted absolutely no time in drawing him inside her, and for one long earth-shattering moment, they were still.

  Then he said, “Slow. So slow."

  She began to move in long, sinuous, torturous motions, and thought that he was right, absolutely right. Slow was what they needed. Waves of glorious sensation rushed over her, pulling her deeper and deeper under. She was ultra-aware of everything, every motion, every nerve ending, every inch of him and her. Underneath her, she felt Gray shudder, and she realized that he was holding back, fighting with himself not to drive into her.

  I love you.

  Every fiber of her screamed it as she looked straight into his eyes, dark and heavy with pleasure. She moved again, keeping her movements liquid, watching his eyelids flicker in reaction, listening to him struggle for breath, and needing him.

  "Gray,” she said suddenly, brokenly stretching over him. “I can't go slow any—"

  "Don't,” he said and drove into her.

  His hands pulled on her hips, his fingers digging into her skin, pressing so hard into her that she feared vaguely that he would leave bruises. To repay the favor, she leaned over and bit his shoulder and let him rocket her into climax.

  He heard the sound in his ear, a strange sort of sob that triggered something in him he couldn't define. But he followed her into the climax with a shout that he muffled against the delicate skin of her neck.

  And then, feeling exhausted and thoroughly spent, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer and waited until his heart stopped racing and hoped he could come up with something coherent to say to her.

  To tell her how very much she meant to him...

  * * * *